


awfully written :(

by i_sold_all_my_genders_none_are_left



Category: Last Legacy (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cuddles, Cute, Fluff, Gen, Getting high, HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAH, Im tired, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Vanilla, Weed, YA, annoying narrator, hehe, just so one can find it, lol, much more annoying writer, not really explicit but yo, pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_sold_all_my_genders_none_are_left/pseuds/i_sold_all_my_genders_none_are_left
Summary: You and Felix smoke pot together. He doesn't feel safe cause he's not completely lucid, you two go to bed with nice blankets, try to cuddle but end up fucking, and sleep. No the room is canonically not cold because i said so
Relationships: Felix Iskandar Escellun/Reader, Felix/Reader, I guess???? - Relationship, felix last legacy/reader
Kudos: 14





	awfully written :(

**Author's Note:**

> It's too long for my taste but whatever. It's so long mostly because the narrator keeps intruding your thoughts shamelessly, as you intrude Felix's. HEHEHEHEHEEHHfhajfhjkhdfjfk...ajdfj. No angst, no bad stuff- just you (a gender-unknown reader with a passion for the fourth wall) and Felix (a traumatized kid that studies necromancy and likes to be edgy but blushes like nothing) YEA
> 
> (English is not my first language. Do not forgive any mistakes or incoherencies.)

Felix sits on the armchair in front of yours, contemplating your hands. You bring them up to your face, bending them to your own pleasure and taste, exposing tendons and bones. Bringing the joint up to your mouth you inhale, and moving your hand away from you and towards Felix, you exhale smoke, playing with it as dragons play with their treasures. An accurate comparison: isn't Felix your treasure, after all? Yes, well, the "Rime thing" was solved, so to say, but you can't quite stop thinking about it. It ended recently, after all. Sometimes you feel guilty about it. But who am I to solve your internal soliloquies? I am merely illustrating them to a reader.   
"How are you feeling?" asks Felix, surprised that you haven't yet collapsed onto yourself.  
Through a smile you simply mumble something like _I feel good, there's this little part of me that claims to be a narrator_. And Felix isn't surprised. Haven't you always been introspective? Curious, and a bit crazed?   
You pass the joint to him, lightly brushing your shaking fingers against his. _Fuck it, take his whole hand_. 

Hm. You'd expect a necromancer to be cold and unemotional, but hell(s), his cheeks blush such a pretty pink, and his eyes widen with such surprise. Wasn't he used to it yet? Oh, how you wanted to dance with him under the soft shine of the moonlight! To take his hands in yours and move to silent music only ever playing once for every found life-long love story. Reading books to him! Teaching your teacher about earthly devices and topics, and the beauty of that. Oh, you do have a thing for teaching. You have a thing for knowledge, and most likely that's why you... Chose him. Choose? Did you really choose him or did you two find each other because of a mistake? And wasn't that your favourite method, really - finding someone without forcing anything? Yet, Rime- No. But shouldn't you take care of his trauma and everything?

Haha, this one is bad, huh? Refocus your eyes. He's looking at you. But again... You want to hold him close... Oh, for the sake of gods you don't believe in! Focus! He's talking!  
"Uh, sorry, I didn't hear you. What was it?"   
"I'm not sure it's working."  
"It will, dear, it will."  
"Hm, how come you're so sure?"  
"Gods, look at me. Just look at me," you say with a smile, "I don't feel my legs and I can't move. I'm dissociating and a narrator is in my head. And I started to think about fucking you, but with the words of a song."  
Was it too much for him? Was he even high yet? He chuckled, and with that, a permanent smile appeared on his face.   
"And... Heh, and what does the song go like?"  
"Well,"   
Simply speak the lyrics, you really don't want to use your singing voice... You're not a cold unemotional being either, and that would most likely embarrass you to the core.  
"It goes like: _It's cute in a way that you cannot speak, you leave for a cigarette and knees get weak_ ; and it goes on with a chorus with two variants."  
Felix simply lets out a content sigh as you keep going.   
" _I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight, lie still, close your eyes dear, so lovely, it feels so right - I want to hold you close, soft breast, beating heart, as I whisper in your ear: I want to fucking tear you apart_." And you end up laughing, because what else to do? Again, he's so pretty when he blushes. Yet, isn't the song about rape? I mean, it's not like you can't make it better, say, in the name of love, but. Ah, fuck it.   
"Are you done with that thing yet?"

He kind of pouts at your teasing. 

  
"There," he says, as he passes you the joint.   
"How do you feel?" You gently ask, leaning forward and taking his hand.   
"I don't feel my legs either."  
"HAH!" you laugh, "See? Told you it'd work."  
"But..."  
"Yes?"  
He turns his gaze, as if he were insecure of what to say.   
"Dear, you're safe," you reassure him... Still, it doesn't seem to work.   
"Alright, try to get up."  
"Where are we going?"  
"Bed, so you can rest, and I can stay close to you and make you feel safe."  
"How- did you know that?" he asks, raising his head to look at you, silently repeating the question.   
"Don't you fear losing possession of your faculties?"  
"I do. But how did you know?"   
"Honey, it's called trauma. Let's go, c'mon, c'mon."   
And you slowly and uncertainly reach the bedroom, where you revive the fire and prepare blankets. You glance at the bed for... Not too much time? Or maybe the opposite. Your internal timepiece is malfunctioning at the moment. The bed is not too big, but it'll do.   
"There, lie down." And timidly, as if he couldn't figure out how to move, he positions himself on the bed, perhaps not expecting the incoming cuddling session. You lie beside him, making him your favourite little spoon and hugging his side with one arm, stretching it over his hip.   
"You know, I have a full collection of songs." He had told you about the songs of his place, and the bards, and everything. Oh, how you wish you could just go back to Earth for a while, just to find a way to let him hear them! I mean... Nothing too difficult. It doesn't even need a ritual. I could literally just cut the scene, no angst, no goodbyes, no complications. Just how I like it, just how you both want it. Literally a happy ending. No, not even an ending.   
"There's this one that goes: _Make me behave like an animal, make me behave like an animal. I'm asking nicely, give me what I want, I'll ask politely, give me what I want!_ Though it's not really a happy song. Hm."  
Felix turns on his other side to face you, holding back a wicked smile. You'd really like to kiss him, but there's something holding you back. You look at him expectantly... Until you quickly give him a little peck on the lips. He's surprised, and laughs. Looks like smoking really eased him up.   
"You know, I could go back to Earth and retrieve a little device of mine."  
"No."  
"What! Why not?" you say, happy to hear a slight note of jealousy in his worry.  
"It'd be easy. They could just cut the scene."  
Oh, now he's confused.   
"They?"  
"The writer, yes, indeed!" You admit with a sense of pride.  
"The writer."  
"Without doubt."  
Oh, silly, silly you. And silly me! Silly, silly us all.   
You don't even look at him, this time. You just lean in, crashing your mouth (but gently, remember!) against his, slowly moving to be on top of him, tasting his whimpers with your very soul. 

Well, I value the soul to be equal to the mind. After all, humans start off as beastly devices of torture. Ah, fuck it! You'll explain my theories later. Or... Well, let me just figure out the time. 

His arms come up behind your head, and yours play with his soft hair, craving the most simple, lovely touch. You've had enough of waiting for a lover anyway, huh? Now's the time. You're not late. Be not afraid!   
As your kiss deepens, your lips part gently and your body relaxes against his, finally touching. You break the kiss, still terribly close to his lips, gently moving without realizing, to whisper in the softest manner: " _He's so eager to please_." You feel his smile, and his words, coming back to you. "A remark about a not-so-humble necromancer or another song?"  
"Both, dearest. How could I choose one?"  
He giggle is soon followed by a slight, surprised gasp. He tries to understand what's happening, and soon he comprehends it's you, l _ittle horny barista, you're trying to unbutton his shirt!_ But you stop. Just to check on him. Just for a moment. The idea of teasing him is an irresistible temptation, and not only that: you are aware of the importance of consent, aren't you?   
You keep playing with the buttons of his clothes, asking if he's ok. You receive a sigh, and at that point, you push yourself to his eye level and ask again. "Yes," he replies. When questioned about consent, his answer does not differ, if not for a soft little "please" whispered at the end; something like a tear in the rain or a voice in howling wind.   
You sigh, falsely tired, and get off of him. Felix seems relieved in the beginning, but he soon leaves his state of peace in favour of despair. He turns his head to you, not even noticing he has an erection. Ah, he'd be so flustered if he weren't high. Haha.   
"y/n."  
"Myes?" you reply, proudly raising your head. "What is it, your majesty?"   
"Oh, come on!" he tries to hide his smirk, so he turns to the other side.   
You reach for him, coming back to the initial position, so to speak. Your arm goes back on his hip, and you swear you could feel the burn of his cheeks. Oh, he's realized, hasn't he? This is going to be fun.   
He simply waits for you, desperately stuck in his state. He's so cute. So heart-wrenchingly cute. Gods, he's torn you apart. You're victim of his being a bottom! ...Or is he a switch, bottom leaning? Uhm. I'll have to ask. Either that or you check for yourself.   
Your arm begins to wonder, and he takes your hand to guide it to the buttons you were trying to undo. He lets you play with them, and soon you're caressing his chest in gentle circular motions. But your hand goes down, down, down, until you reach for his belt, letting him believe and hope you're going to untie it and release the pressure worrying him. But no. No, no, no. You decide to just move your hand just above his waistline, and let it rest there, wondering just how hot he can burn before succumbing to your will. As he tenses, he turns, so he can look at the ceiling while trying to keep it together. It's at that point that you, once again, get on top of him and kiss him gently. But he's tired of waiting, he's impatient, and he wants you, specifically _you_. Because, after all, you're the reason why he suffers such corporeal, material and sinful desires, aren't you? You created patterns for him to recognize and to revel in, repeating of certain actions in certain orders that just send him in a trance. It would be fun to hypnotize him. You'll ask, one day. 

Oh! Oh, this was unexpected, most certainly unplanned! He's pushing you? Oh, gods, he's pushing you over, trying to use his hands on your hips! Oh no, this is not going to work. You take his hands, place them above his head, and block them with your right. As punishment, you gift one last kiss to his lips, and waste the others on his jaw, reaching just under his ear, and descending slowly to trace and stain his neck with his very own blood.   
"You know..." You start, sucking small bruises between whispers.  
"Humans start off as beasts." Your free hand goes to cup his cheek, "We can reach humanity only by acquiring knowledge and knowing how to make use of it." And his mouth opens just slightly, his eyes closing and his whole head resting its weight on your hand, leaving you enough space to have some more fun with his neck. Shivers ascend his spine, wrecking his being, to become sighs of eternal yearning that leave him as you'd expect a spirit to leave someone... Or possess someone. Why is that? Ah, the grinding, of course. You really thought of going _that_ slow? I can see why he's desperate.   
Suddenly, a most obscene moan escapes him. You stop in surprise. And then you laugh, and kiss him, because he's precious. And horny. Quite a lot, if I say so myself. Just... Just let him go. Please. I know you're wondering how he looks while coming after being edged for long, and I know you want to see him that way. And it's not like you'll forget this view very soon, either.   
You get as close to his mouth as you can. "Tell me you want it. You know, consent."  
"Are you... I gave you consent earlier," he mumbles, although he knows it's merely for the sick pleasure of having him begging you, and praying for your touch. He smiles at that thought. And so do you.   
You trace his body with your hands, freeing his. He puts them on your hips, again. He doesn't even look at you, he has his eyes closed as if he were about to die. And no, I'm not going to write a remark about the so-called Petit Mort.

Well, at this point he can only whisper things like "please" and repeat your name. It does fill you with a sense of sick pride, and so you decide to reward him. Your body slides a bit down, and you take your time in freeing him of his restraints. His erection has grown stronger, but he's probably just about to give up.   
As you take his length in your hands and softly stroke it, you continue that ramble about beasts and humans.   
"With you, I found my knowledge." 

"With you I found myself."

It doesn't take long before he comes, really. He looked stunning with his clothes and hair messy, and his eyes closed, having given up his power completely. But this... It should be in a gallery. A bit like L'origine du Monde, but with an actual sexual remark. Oh, how he shivers in your hands. He just plays with your hair, using that last bit of energy that resides in him to let out his last, obscene, desperate moan, crying his pleasure out in painfully beautiful poison. It tastes soar and makes you soft as he is, collapsing into dense blackness that makes him feel dead. He'll probably think about this the next time he takes poison to see you. Heh. 

  
You clean up a bit and then cover him with the blanket again. He has to be warm, and he has to sleep. Most likely, yes. I mean, look at him. He really looks like he's dead. Wait- is he breathing?   
Yes, yes, good.   
You cup his cheek.   
"Hun."  
He mumbles something that escapes your understanding skills. It doesn't matter.   
"Come, let's rest."  
You're facing each other, and none of you utter a word. You simply kiss his forehead and close your eyes.

He's so dramatic.


End file.
